Not long after World War Two, a pair of teenage Jewish Londoners, brother and sister, are diagnosed with tuberculosis and sent to a treatment centre in the Kent countryside. Once the exclusive domain of the wealthier classes, the advent of the NHS has opened up the world of sanatoriums to the poor, and not all of the patients are happy about it.
This novel is set at an interesting crossroads in the history of medical practice: antibiotics have been discovered, but their use is still in development, so although a cure for tuberculosis exists, the main treatment is still rest, combined with barbaric surgical options (some of which are described in the book). It’s also the last period during which sanatoriums like the one depicted were a widespread phenomenon: institutions in which people literally lay all day doing nothing, or reading if they were lucky. The boredom is overwhelming, especially considering that “treatment” can literally last years, for the rest of one’s life. One brief discussion notes that politicians are beginning to be concerned about the effect this kind of lifestyle might have on the poor. The development of public health is demanding more practical treatments that will enable patients to continue to contribute to the economy. At a broader level, it’s the moment in British history when large-scale policy decisions about medical matters are beginning to supplant individual decisions by doctors.
Of course, the historical period in which this took place is also significant, and there is an interesting (though sadly fairly shallow) consideration of the cultural attitude to England’s Jewish population, both native and refugee. The common response seems to be that Hitler’s campaign against them was terrible, and of course one feels sorry for them, but one doesn’t want them as a neighbour. In the face of this, it’s interesting that the enclosed society of the sanatorium fairly rapidly absorbs Lenny and Myriam, as the culture of shared suffering and boredom overcomes (to a degree, at least) snobbishness. I wanted to know more about this, and I felt a bit cheated out of it.
In the face of all this objectively interesting background, I’m struggling to put my finger on why exactly this novel didn’t grab me. Reading it felt like a slog, and although it was good, I didn’t look forward to returning to it (thank goodness for the Easter long weekend or I might never have finished it). The closest I can come is that I didn’t feel particularly engaged with any of the characters as individuals; in particular, the main pair felt caricature-ish at times, and I felt that they had other, more interesting experiences that I was being denied. However, the consensus of the internet seems to be that I’m alone in my dissatisfaction, so it’s a decent bet that the problem lies with me, not with the novel.